


Watson’s Many Woes 2020

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Boxing, Bruises, Cancer, Character Death, Dementia, Dragons, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Immigrants, Jealousy, Joanlock - Freeform, Magic, Rain, Snow Angels, The Brownstone, Virus, Watson’s Woes, Wizards, apricots, chemo - Freeform, i think Mulder is doing it on purpose, jersey devil, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25055932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: It’s July! And that means Watson’s Woes prompts. I’m starting late and can make no guarantees I’ll have a ficlet for each day but I’m giving it a go.Two prompts - one story!JWP#29 To the Makeup Table! Focus on Holmes and/or Watson in disguise – for a case, or for any other reason.JWP#30 The One-Legged News-Seller and Other Spear-Carriers:Have today's offering from the POV of one of the background characters in any version of Sherlock Holmes, including characters who were never named. (Note: This does not include recurring principle characters like Mycroft or Hopkins.)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Joan Watson (Elementary)
Comments: 106
Kudos: 118
Collections: Watson's Woes JWP Collection: 2020





	1. Deep Greens and Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#3 - prompt for July 3, 2020 is:  
> Green Grow the Rushes, Oh!: Your inspiration today is  
> anything green: grass, leaves, emeralds, a visiting alien, someone who is green with envy…

Arms crossed before her, Watson stared out the kitchen window at the small square of land that served as their pseudo-garden. Withered plants and grey branched trees stared back. 

Listless. The only word that came to mind to describe Watson these past two days. Sherlock surmised the quarantine had finally quashed her spirit. Putting down his tea and mustering as much enthusiasm as was left in him, for he too was beginning to slip into the doldrums, he spoke up. “Watson, what say we head upstate for a few days, hmm?”

Joan slowly turned, “We are in the middle of a pandemic.” 

“Yes. But we have our own fully-fueled vehicle. Captain Gregson has graciously offered use of his cabin in the Catskills. We have masks, gloves, and if need be, a doctor at our disposal.” 

A half smile and raised eyebrow was her response. 

Summer danced through the mountains’ trees. Standing on a small outcrop, Watson and Holmes breathed in the verdant air. The valley below, shimmering with shades of green, with the whisper of leaves in the breeze, lifted her spirits. He felt his own mood lighten in response.

Joan bumped her shoulder against his. He looked down at his partner and let a close-lipped smile slip across his face.


	2. Apricots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP #4: Hot July brings cooling showers, apricots and gillyflowers: Use two  
> or more of the following in your work today: July, cooling showers,  
> apricots, gillyflowers (which include carnations, stock, and wallflowers).
> 
> This loosely continues from chapter 1 and is unmitigated fluff. You have been warned.

July 4th. Sherlock and Watson’s escape to the mountains marked its two week anniversary. 

Gregson’s cabin came with all the amenities, if by all you meant running water and generator produced electricity, no WiFi and spotty cellular service that required a good long walk to access. 

Remarkably for being cut off from the world with only each other for company, they were content (happy being a state which neither would ever admit to). 

This night, hot and muggy, like most nights, sent them out to the porch to await a breeze. Clothing had become less than formal. Gone were buttoned up shirts and suits. Sherlock sat barefoot on the porch swing in nothing but a pair of trunks. Watson, in a bikini top and green pajama shorts brought out a bowl of apricots and set it down between them. 

She popped an apricot in her mouth and talked through it. “Have you always been this hairy?” Conversation between them had also lost its academic edge. 

Amused at her question, he spat the apricot pit he’d been sucking on in a long, high arc, before answering. “Yes, Watson, I was a rather hirsute baby, much the same as you see before you today, chest hair and all.” He smiled and scratched at his chest.

Joan laughed at the thought and competitively spat her own apricot pit before reaching for another. 

“Not bad,” Sherlock conceded and launched a second pit in an attempt to surpass hers. 

The battle of the pits and ridiculous theories as to the aerodynamics of apricot versus cherry stones kept them entertained until a crack of lightening and deep rumble of thunder stopped their chatter. Excitedly they looked at each other, wide-eyed with anticipatory delight of a cooling shower. Sheets of rain suddenly dropped. Sherlock grabbed Watson’s hand and they ran out from under the porch’s protection into the deluge.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Sherlock dropped her hand and hopped on one foot. “Pit ... one of yours no doubt, you have no range.” 

Joan, twirling face up into the rain, laughed, and bumped him, throwing him off balance. He teetered, grabbed at her and fell backwards bringing Joan down with him. Good natured jibes and laughter accompanied their fall and the pair lay side by side getting thoroughly soaked. 

Sherlock heard the Joan’s wistful whisper, “It’s going to be difficult to go back to the city, to become Holmes and Watson again.”

He extended an arm and she instinctively moved into its crook. “We are Holmes and Watson, Joan. Always have been.”


	3. A Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#5 Retro Picture Prompt:: One of the most popular prompts of  
> its year, take inspiration from this picture prompt from a previous JWP. (Image of hole - see below)

“Sherlock Holmes, do NOT put your hand in there!” Joan’s command fell on deaf ears. He was already sprawled flat on the ground peering into its darkness.

He looked up and squinted, “Come Watson, it’s just a hole in the ground.”

Joan bit her tongue and did not blurt out the obvious retort. “Just don’t!”

She should have known he’d take that as challenge. He plunged, not just his hand, but his whole arm into the pit’s void. His body twitched and screams of pain followed as he writhed in the dirt trying to pull his arm out.

“Sherlock!” She squatted beside him and slapped him on the back. “Stop it. This isn’t funny.”

He pulled out his arm and rolled over on his back. “What gave me away? Too much writhing? I overdid the screams didn’t I ...”

Joan scowled at him in an attempt to disguise her amusement, “You are such an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly influenced by the movie I watched last night, “Roman Holiday.”


	4. Screams in the night? Check.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP #6 It's the middle of the night. Why is screaming coming from Baker Street? (Changed it to the Brownstone) and   
> JWP #7 include a check box, tally mark, or other mark that records a preference (I ignored the preference part)
> 
> Two birds with one tiny drabble - I’ll do better tomorrow (maybe)

A blood curdling scream, one able to penetrate through the allegedly soundproof wall that was installed for the specific purpose of dampening the noise from the brownstone next door, woke Trevor. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Holmes and Watson were at it again. He didn’t know whether it was murder or wild sex that produced the noise but at this point he did not care. 

Trevor side-eyed the bedside clock - 2:57. He sat up, grabbed a pen, placed a check mark on the calendar and wrote down the time. Another frantic moan and clatter. Trevor hoped that they were at least enjoying themselves as he reached for the earplugs.


	5. To everything ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#8 - A Floral Bouquet: Let anything involving flowers inspire you today. Wedding bouquet, funeral wreath, hay fever - all of flora is yours to explore
> 
> Be warned - mention of character death and illness.

The smell of decaying flowers overwhelmed her. Floral arrangements sent in remembrance of her mother smothered every corner of the brownstone, or so it seemed to Joan.

She stood staring out the library window, not knowing what to do with herself. Truly, there was nothing to be done now. It was over. There would be no funeral or memorial service. 

Mary Watson’s body died three days ago, but Mary Watson died months before. The dementia left her mother practically catatonic - not recognizing family, not speaking, not reacting to stimuli, not pain or hunger or thirst. Joan fought back tears at the memory of the complete emptiness in her mother’s brown eyes the last time she saw her. 

The dementia became almost a blessing at the end. She hoped it spared her mother physical pain; that it spared her understanding that the virus had taken over her body and death was imminent, and most importantly that it spared her knowing that she died alone while her family grieved and despaired at her passing from a distance, quarantined from each other and unable to reach her, to hold her hand one more time before she slipped away.

Joan covered her face as the memories and the sickly sweet stench of decay tangled around her. 

Many a birthday or mother’s day, Mary would scowl at them as they came with bouquets in their hands, “Save your money,” she would say. ”I’m still alive. Flowers are for the dead.” But she would still take the proffered flowers, carefully arranging them and and setting them out for all to see. Her mom was full of contradictions, strong and soft, stubborn yet willing to bend, full of love ... tenacious.... .

Mary Watson had been a warrior and she taught her daughter to be one as well. No time for sentimentalizing, deal with the matters at hand. Joan turned away from the window to find Sherlock standing a few feet behind her.

She picked up a vase of lilies and roses, “Help me throw some of these out will you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everything (turn, turn, turn)  
> There is a season (turn, turn, turn)  
> And a time to every purpose, under heaven  
> A time to be born, a time to die…  
> ~Pete Seeger


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best I could do - isn’t really responsive to the prompt - 2 drabbles that are incoherent and I’m too tired to explain them. 
> 
> JWP#9 Basic Chemistry: Describe an event in the early days of Holmes and Watson.

“I don’t think you are interpreting the data correctly, Watson. There simply was not enough time.” Sherlock had that smug patronizing lilt to his voice. It irked her and he knew it. She sorted through the papers and pulled out what she needed.

“Look, here, here and here,” Joan set the documents before Sherlock and Marcus. “The time stamps show a lapse.”

The detectives examined the reports. Sherlock sat back and side-eyed her, “Cod liver oil, Watson?”

Joan swallowed a smile, “No, thank you.”

Marcus knew better than to ask. It must be one of those Holmes Watson things. 

========

“Do you ever wonder where you’d be if we hadn’t met?”

“I’d be dead. Overdosed. Ironically, my father would probably still be alive.”

“Give yourself some credit. You’re stronger than that.”

“Need I remind you, I’ve relapsed twice in the past seven years, even with you in my life. What about you?”

“I don’t know. I would probably still be going from one job to another searching for the piece that’s missing ... searching for you.”

“I think you’d probably be happily married to that Ty fellow and have lots of little Morstans.”

“Ugh, don’t even joke about something like that.”


	7. The games people play now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#10 Let's Play a Game: Today's prompt is another popular one from a  
> previous JWP: games.  
> Everyone Hacker Collective wants to play.  
> 
> 
> Written quickly, so point out typos if you’d like

“I should not have agreed to this.” Joan pulled up a chair and sat beside Sherlock and in front of the laptop’s camera.

“Everyone insisted, you don’t play the game, we don’t get the evidence. I’m used to humiliation. I tried to talk them out of it but...” 

The screen clicked and greetings were texted replete with snarky emojis. 

HELLO DR. WATSON! HAPPY YOU COULD JOIN US. NICE OUTFITS!

Unintentionally, she and Sherlock were dressed in almost identical suits. 

Joan rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

TRUTH OR DARE, DOCTOR?

“Truth?” She shrugged her shoulders at Sherlock looking for approval of her choice. He just shrugged back.

JOAN WATSON, DID YOU LOVE MYCROFT HOLMES?

Sherlock looked down at his hands, uncomfortable for her and to be honest for himself. 

Joan stared like a deer in headlights, stunned at the question.

REMEMBER YOU HAVE TO TELL THE TRUTH! More insipid emojis flashed on the screen. 

Joan couldn’t look at Sherlock. She cleared her throat, “I was never in love with Mycroft, if that’s what you’re asking, but I did love him.”

An awkward moment passed and the hackers’ attention turned to Sherlock. 

MR. HOLMES, TRUTH OR DARE?

He, seeing the type of question that was asked of Watson, and not wanting to be placed in a similar position, blurted out, “Dare.”

ALRIGHT! MY MAN, WE DARE YOU TO KISS DR. WATSON...

Sherlock sighed in relief, “Easy enough.” He leaned over a gave her a peck on the cheek and was treated to a shy smile from Joan.

NO DUDE, WE WEREN’T THROUGH. WE DARE YOU TO KISS DR. WATSON, FULL ON LIPS, FRENCHIE STYLE, FOR AT LEAST ONE MINUTE.

He solemnly turned his head and spoke in hushed tones at his partner, “Are you okay with this, Watson? Doesn’t seem fair to you.” 

Sherlock saw the hint of humor in her eyes before she dropped her head and answered sullenly, “I guess.”

He scowled as he set his phone timer for sixty seconds. He squinted apologetically at Joan.”Ready?”

She swiveled her body to face his. “Ready.”

Sherlock hit the timer button and reached for her face, softly caressing her cheek while staring deep into her eyes. He kissed his way up her jawline, nestling briefly at her neck, murmuring softly in her ear before turning his full attention to her lips. 

The kiss started soft and quickly grew as Joan grabbed at his neck and pulled him closer. Open mouthed caresses, fingers entwined in hair, faces smashed together ... it was more than the Hacker Co-Op had ever hoped for or imagined. 

The timer on Sherlock’s phone chimed and they separated, wiped delicately at their mouths and calmly turned back to the screen, “I assume that will be sufficient?”

WHOA! GUYS YOU HAVE DONE THIS BEFORE HAVEN’T YOU?

Neither answered Everyone’s question. 

Joan spoke up, “We’ve kept our side of the deal. We expect the evidence will be forwarded to us immediately.”

ABSOLUTELY. YOU WILL HAVE IT WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES. 

Joan reached over and shut down the camera and computer. “Never thought I would sink that low to solve a case.” She side-eyed him, a smile playing on her lips.

“It wasn’t that bad was it?”

“No, it’s just we’ve never had an audience before.”


	8. Rematch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#11: Over the Ropes: Watson's rugby-playing past is several times alluded to in canon. Write about a sporting woe for Watson, whether related to rugby or roller derby or something else..

She put down her gym bad and turned to face him.

He winced just as she’d expected him to. “Ran into Detective Cortez did you?”

“That woman has issues. She insisted on a rematch.”

“And you of course complied.” Sherlock stepped closer to inspect her injury. The bruise on her cheek and just under her left eye bloomed in shades of light mauves and blues.

Joan turned her head for him. “I knocked her out. Cold. Didn’t mean to...” Her guilt was absolved by his pride. 

“Come. Let’s take care of that eye.” 

“The poultice?” 

“Yes.” He took her by the elbow and ushered her downstairs. “You did well but need further training on defense. We will do some sparring next week.”


	9. Out of the Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP #12 - From Kandahar to Tokyo: Set your offering in a locale other than England (or in the case of adaptations that have Holmes based in another country, that country) today.
> 
> Drew on my own travel experiences for the hotel and clerk in this one (it got worse before it got better)  
> * Couldn’t figure out how to place image in story, so you get a link to my tumblr at the end of the story. Sorry.

The taxi rattled to a stop. Through the grimy backseat window they could make out a sign tacked to the brick wall pointing up to Hotel Los Piratas. Joan did not look pleased.

“I asked you not to come but you insisted.” Sherlock chided her. He paid the driver and held the door open for her.

“I thought it would be a nice change of pace,” she lied. Worried he was being set up, she forced him to let her come with. Safety in numbers, she told herself.

Barely lit, the black enamel walls of the stairwell heightened her sense of foreboding.The landing opened straight to the hotel desk. No lobby. The man behind the desk looked half asleep. Balding, with long hair and a raggedy beard, a slow blink sufficed for a greeting. He produced a key from the pocket of his camouflage jacket, plunked it down on the desk and jerked his head in the direction they should go.

The room, painted a dirty shade of turquoise, had a bed. That was the best that could be said about it. The bathroom featured a drain in the middle of the floor besides which twitched a dying cockroach the size of a NYC subway rat.

“Seriously, Sherlock, can’t we find another hotel.”Joan held on to her small suitcase, ready to run should he give the word.

Firmly, he closed the door to the bathroom on the off chance the roach should revive and decide to roam during the night.“I’m afraid not. Not tonight anyway. This hotel was part of the deal. Jules will meet with us here in the morning. Hopefully provide us with the information we need and then we may choose better accommodations.”

“Or maybe we can hop over to Aruba? A beach front cabana ... I brought my swimsuit...”

“We might be able to swing that,” Sherlock nodded knowing full well that he would gladly accede to Watson’s request. “Shall we check for bedbugs or throw caution to the wind?”

<https://nairobiwonders.tumblr.com/post/623496756587593728/jwp12>


	10. The Devil You Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP #13 - picture prompt - see below at end of story.

He tried to dissuade him from coming along. He tried losing him among the labyrinth of trails. He out and out told the man to go away. But Fox Mulder loped casually behind him, leaving a trail of sunflower seed husks, and seemingly oblivious as to Sherlock’s growing ire.

Friendship had blossomed between Scully and Watson after their chance airport encounter a few years back and when an opportunity to work together came up, they jumped on it and dragged their partners along. Joan and Dana, as the instigators of this excursion, were pursuing the better lead in town, leaving Sherlock to wander through the forest with Mulder. He had no doubt this was done to give Dana a few hours of peace. 

The sun was setting, it’s last rays splintered through the trees, casting deep shadows. “We’d best head back. No point chasing after something we can no longer see. Although, I believe that is your specialty.” Sherlock sniffed and turned on his heel, starting the long trek back to town. 

Mulder took a good look around before following. “Hey... hey, Holmes! Have you ever heard of the Jersey Devil? Scully and I had a run in with...”

“We are in upper New York State, Agent Mulder. No devils here.” Sherlock attempted to stop yet another story of dubious encounters with aliens, monsters and flukemen. He walked faster. 

“Yeah but those things can travel. I think that jersey devil child could be out here somewhere. It makes sense given the .....”

Sherlock stopped listening and started planning as to how best to exact revenge on Watson. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Holmes and Watson meet Mulder and Scully in “Waiting” - 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946886


	11. The Brownstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#14 The Rest is Silence: Let your work today include a time when silence was essential or the main focus of attention. For example: Holmes staying silent and infuriating Watson; silence waiting for a telegram/phone call; silently waiting for a suspect...

“I’ve got the car keys ...” and with the usual jingle and chatter, the door clicked shut, and the two were gone.

Ahhh... finally. The brownstone eased down on her foundation and relaxed. No sound save the creak of a wood board and the discreet crick of a beam as the old house breathed and stretched.

Sunshine slowly slid across her well polished floors. 

A clock ticked and a cricket chirped as evening fell. 

Streetlight climbed in and stretched across her rooms.

The brownstone slumbered. The two would return soon enough. They always did. For now she would enjoy the silence.


	12. Every detail of every thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#17: Wrong! Have a character discover that he or she remembers a pivotal  
> life event incorrectly.
> 
> Not sure this strictly meets the prompt.

“Because I remember everything! Every person I have met, every detail of everything.” Shoulders thrown back, Sherlock walked away from Watson thinking the argument over and he victorious. 

“I know, that great mind of yours just absorbs and catalogues every detail of every thing.” She called out after him; the sarcasm fell upon deaf ears. Joan followed him and watched as he dipped behind a chair in the study and picked up a couple of locks. A bucket of locks! There was no place for buckets in the remodeled study! She walked faster and came to an abrupt stop where he sat, fiddling with the first lock’s mechanism.

“Okay, fine you remember everything.”

His eyes flitted up, “I do,” he confirmed and then returned to his task. 

“Fine then. What was I wearing on the day we first met?” She taunted him. “Hmm? Should be pretty simple for you. Tell me, what was I wearing.”

Sherlock stilled and stared blankly at his hands. “You were wearing a black flowing thing and ridiculously high heeled shoes.” He scrunched his face at her and twisted the pick once more. The lock sprung open.

“That’s it? That’s all you remember?” She shook her head in disbelief, “that could describe any outfit I wore in the first year of our partnership. Admit it. You don’t remember that far back with any accuracy and you therefore could be very wrong about our suspect.” Tilting her head at him, she flashed her eyes. She was now certain she had won the argument. 

As Joan walked away, he spoke quietly, “You weren’t wearing much makeup and I could see the spray of freckles across your nose.... your hair was down, loose about your shoulders.... a very light scent of lemons.” He stopped for a moment and his voice got softer. “Your eyes ... your eyes, dark and deep ... full of secrets ... curious and sharp ... your hands ... beeswax...”

Joan turned and faced him as he continued.

“The moment I heard your name, Watson, and then shook your hand ... it felt ... it felt as if I were meeting an old friend who’d been away for along time.” Sherlock looked up rather embarrassed by his confession. “Sorry. Anyway. You’re probably right about Mr. Gibbs.”

Joan silently walked over to the armchair and brought the bucket of locks back to sit between them. She picked out a lock and chose a pick from his case, talking as she worked. “You were shirtless and barefoot ... looked very umm... healthy for a recovering addict... and your eyes ...” she shook her head and smiled. “I willingly walked into those eyes, not knowing what I was in for ...”

Punctuated by the sound of metal clicks, their reminiscing continued in hushed tones that faded into an amiable silence.


	13. Could have been a knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#18 - Intriguing phrase: Finish this phrase, or be inspired by it: The first - and only - time Holmes ever saw Watson pick up a gun in his bedroom was also the day…

The giggling of her child greeted her as she stepped in the door, immediately followed by Sherlock running past her with Arthur in hot pursuit. Sherlock turned and that’s when she saw it - a water gun - a Super Blaster 2000.

“Sherlock!” Her cry made him stop and look up; Arthur took the opportunity. Shooting a stream from his own blaster, Arthur got him square in the face. Sherlock’s instinct was immediate retaliation. Through water blurred eyes he shot back, missing his target completely but drenching Joan.

She stood stunned and dripping. Sherlock and Arthur froze.

Joan took a breath and wiped the water from her face. When she spoke, her voice had the barely controlled calm that both her assailants knew only too well. “I can not believe I have to say this, especially to a grown man,” she pinned Sherlock with an icy stare. “We do not have water gun fights in the house! Give me your guns now. Both of you!”

Contritely they both handed over their weapons. 

“I apologize Watson. Completely my fault.” With Arthur squeezed up close to his soggy trouser leg, Sherlock stood tall awaiting her sentencing with Arthur.

Joan looked at the water pistols in her hand and then at her partner and son, and with cold deadly accuracy soaked them from head to foot.


	14. Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#19 - Old Friends From The Yard: Have a long-suffering inspector  
> (Lestrade, Gregson, Athelney Jones, original character) show up or even  
> feature in your work today.
> 
> Set after season six; Holmes and Watson have moved back to London.

The knocking woke Sherlock. Whoever was at 221b’s front door was persistent. 

Wearing nothing but sweatpants and anger, Sherlock flung the front door open. “What!?”

And there stood a smiling Lestrade, “Holmes! Good to see you, mate. Glad you’ve made it back to ol’ Blighty. I’ve g...” The front door slammed in his face.

Sherlock turned and found Watson making her way down the stairs. “Who was that?”

“No one.”

From outside, a gravelly voice called out, “Very funny, Holmes. Come on. Open up.”

“Is that Lestrade?” Joan whispered.

Sherlock yawned and nodded. 

Joan tightened the belt on her robe and followed him as he walked towards the kitchen. 

“What would you like for breakfast?”


	15. Of dragons and wizards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#20 - How To Train Your Cormorant: Watson and Holmes deal with a predatory  
> seabird, or some other trained animal.
> 
> An Elementary AU 
> 
> I went way off base with this one. It started small and then I lost control of it. It’s AU, and the characters are more than likely OOC. I am no Diana Wynne Jones as you will soon see ....

A long time ago, before you were born, there was a small village called Rekab. It lay at the foot of a wondrously tall mountain, so tall that clouds often ringed its tippy top. Rekab’s people were gentle folk, farmers and tradesmen, who enjoyed many, many years of peace and prosperity. That is they did, until that one horrible night...

An ear-piercing screech and a blast of fire marked the beginning of months of fear and suffering for the village. Metallic scales of emerald greens and steely blues, flashed and chimed across the beast’s chest and enormous wings. It scorched their fields and ate their livestock and in subsequent raids even devoured the brave men and women who dared to challenge it. 

Rekab was besieged by a most horrific monster. Something had to be done. But what? After much discussion, and more discussion, too much discussion really, and no action, a young woman forced her way to the front of the crowd, yelling to be heard.

“We cannot fight this beast on our own! We must seek help. I am going to ask the Wizard, Wizard Holmes of Stonebrown Castle, to come to our aid.” 

Uproarious laughter erupted from the crowd. Wizard Holmes was known by all to be a selfish curmudgeon, solitary in his ways.

The people mocked and jeered. “Go on then, sweetie, you go fetch the Wizard.” ... “That Watson girl is going to get herself killed or worse, cursed.” ... “She will learn soon enough...” They turned their backs to her and continued their discussions. 

Sunrise found her wrapped in her dark red wool, knocking on the Stonebrown Castle’s large wooden door. 

A man answered, with a half eaten apple in one hand and, distracted by the book in his other hand, he spoke without looking up, “Yes. What is it?”

“I need to speak to the Wizard. My village needs his help. He must come at once!”

The man, surprised by the demanding nature of her words, looked up and silently observed the young woman for a moment.

“Go!” Watson demanded. “Fetch the Wizard. There is no time to waste!”

His assessment of her complete, and finding her intriguing, he set the apple and book aside, “Alright. Let’s go.” He shut the castle door and walked past her. 

“Wait. Wait! I need the Wizard, not you.” 

He looked at her and said nothing, cocked his head and waited. He did not have to wait long. 

Watson was dismayed. “You? You can’t be the Wizard. Where are your robes, your magic staff ... your pointy hat ... like in my books?”

The Wizard Holmes sighed, “I am heartened that you are a reader. In time you will learn that book illustrations are most often flights of fancy, not based on reality. This is what a Wizard looks like. Come along.”

She stumbled and tried to catch up to him. “You have yet to ask where we are going or what I need from you.”

“By the smell of your clothes, singed by dragon-fire, I can tell you are most likely from Rekab and the help which you seek involves ridding yourselves of said beastie, hmm?”

Amazed, Watson nodded and said nothing more. 

A long climb up a steep path, placed them at the mouth of the dragon’s lair. “I must ask you to wait here. Clyde has a bit of a temper.”

Watson smiled, “Clyde? The dragon is named Clyde?”

“Yes, and he is rather sensitive about it. We needn’t anger him any further.”

The Wizard walked towards the entrance. Watson called out, “Be careful! Don’t get hurt!” 

It was a rarity to have concern for his well being expressed; the Wizard Holmes was touched. He strode into the lair. 

Yelling, roaring, flashes of light and thunderous crashes. Watson was sure one or the other or possibly both had perished when the Wizard walked victorious out of the dragon’s lair.

“For you. For your kind heart, your intelligence and courage.” He handed Watson a small tortoise. “Clyde would not back down or admit he was in the wrong so...” he pointed at the reptile with both hands. All the-once-dragon-now-tortoise could do to demonstrate his disdain was to offer a small, and to his dismay, rather cute hiss.

“You did this? How?” Her eyes filled with wonder. “Can you teach me how?

And that is how Watson became the Wizard Holmes’ apprentice. Her talent was such that she became his partner not long after that.


	16. Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson’s Woes Prompt #21: Coat Porn: Whether it's BBC Sherlock's amazing Belstaff, Joan Watson's slickers, or classic Victorian overcoats, let outerwear be your inspiration for today's entry.

[](https://nairobiwonders.tumblr.com/post/624315093057929216/21)https://nairobiwonders.tumblr.com/post/624315093057929216/21


	17. We get the job done.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#22 See if you can create a Watson's Woes work that passes the Bechdel-Wallace Test (have two named women talk to each other about something other than a man).
> 
> Okay - you need a little background. This relates to my WIP, Susana Maria. Reading it might help if you’re interested. Susana Maria is an original character, older, Hispanic, was one Sherlock’s irregulars in London and is injured saving Joan and Sherlock’s lives. If you haven’t guessed by the name already, she is a bit of a Mary Sue ;) Also note - this was written off the cuff, kind of rough, needs rewriting at some point when (if) I finish the WIP. Gracias!

“So, they’re letting you go today?” Joan walked into Susana Maria’s hospital room with a steamy cup of black coffee. A huge smile welcomed her, though Joan wondered how much of that smile was for the strong non-hospital coffee she handed her.

“Ay, gracias. You are a life saver,” the older woman carefully sat up so as to not spill one precious drop.

“Technically, you are the only life saver in this room.” Joan smiled and pulled up a bedside chair, “Have you decided where you’re going when you’re released?”

“I think maybe Jersey. I haven’t seen my sister in a long time. Not since Moriarty put a target on my back.” She took a sip of coffee and side-eyed Joan. “She still dead?”

“Still dead,” Joan answered amused.

“Bueno. To my sister’s then. There’s nothing like the comfort of family ... especially when one doesn’t really belong anywhere else.” Another slow sip and her face took on a more serious look. “May I ask you something personal?”

Joan tensed, afraid of the question to be asked, the question everyone asked, but she nodded, “Sure, go ahead.”

“Were you born here? In the U.S.?”

“Yes. But I’m first generation American.”

“Hmm, maybe you’ll understand... I’ve been here for what? Almost a week, no? And I’ve seen and heard so many people in the hall. Hurt, sick ... a lot of them immigrants, children translating for adults ... most of them scared. It got me thinking, remembering my childhood, coming to a new place where everyone and everything is different. Well actually, no, as an immigrant you are the different one ... and you always will be.” Her voiced trailed off; she stared into her coffee.

Joan understood. “I kind of know that feeling... It first hit me when I started school. Everyone talked about food I never had, games I never played. I remember i was asked by a teacher, what I’d had for dinner, everyone was asked ... and when I happily described my mom’s potstickers ...this was a long time ago before they became trendy... well, I remember the quiet stares, and the giggles from Amy O’Donnell who said something about snakes, and yah, you know you don’t belong ... never will be like them ...”

Joan’s words comforted Susana Maria; she understood. “Worse is you don’t belong in the old country either. Family there treats you like a rich gringa, even though you’re dirt poor, you’re not one of them either. And you’re stuck between worlds.” They sat quiet for a moment until Su spoke again. “You make you’re own world ... You gravitate to other immigrants, no matter where they’re from, they share that same experience ... they understand.”

“Is that why you chose the life you have, traveled so much?” Joan was seeing a side of this usually blustery woman that she found intriguing. 

“Hmm, possibly ... looking for a place to belong ... plus I have a wild streak, need adventure and risk to keep the blood moving.” She smiled, and the jovial old doña came back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get all serious, mija. We all find our way.”

“Yup. But you’re right, I still feel I’m on the outside looking in sometimes.”

“Familia, Joan, immediate family, those who’ve known you since you were born helps. My sister and I can talk our own version of Spanglish and eat empanadas like mama used to make without a care in the world ... and...” Su’s voice trailed off into her own memories. “Anyway, I’m going to go stay with my sister for awhile.” She finished her coffee and changed the subject.


	18. A New Irregular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP #24: The Wonder of the Age: For Victorian Holmes & Watson it was things  
> like telephones and motorcars; for current Sherlocks and John/Joan it’s  
> more likely to be nanotechnology and/or iPhones. Use or allude to such a modern miracle of the age for whatever age you choose.
> 
> A 221 drabble. Inspired by a news story I read today saying that info will be released on physical UFO/alien objects found and kept by the government.

“What is that?” Joan peered over Sherlock’s shoulder. The object was like nothing she had seen before. Metallic, thin and amorphous in shape, it seemed to absorb light and almost disappear.

“This was found at the crime scene. It has been x-rayed, scanned, chemically analyzed, frozen, boiled and probably thrown across the room in frustration. The metal is of unknown origin and the interior of the structure, such as they’ve been able to ascertain, makes no sense....” Sherlock used a pair of tongs to carefully pick the object up and rotate it under the fluorescent lamp.

Joan bent closer for a better look. “So is this what killed Dr. Klaus?”

“Don’t know. They have not been able to find an earthly origin for the object.”

“Wait. What are you saying? You think this thing is alien?” 

Sherlock looked up at her, “I have placed a call to the most unwanted by the FBI.”

Joan smirked, “You’re kidding right? You actually called Fox Mulder?”

He nodded, “This thing has his name written all over it - an unknown metallic object, most likely not created on this planet according to the tests run it, implicated in the death of a scientist.”

She shook her head, “I’m surprised he’s not already here.”

“He would have been but Dana stopped him. He’ll be here tomorrow.”


	19. Crème brûlée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#25 - Food, Glorious Food: Have food (or its absence) figure in some way  
> today.

Food lost its taste, or rather, Joan’s tastebuds, disheartened by the bombardment of chemicals meant to kill cancer, ceased to function. She noted it after the second treatment, things tasted bland, not quite right. She forced herself to eat and after a few days, food was once more palatable. The third chemo treatment decimated her palate. She compared the taste and texture of most food to that of eating wet papier-mâché when trying to describe it to Sherlock.

He fretted. Joan was tiny and her losing any weight during this process was out of the question. Citrus and spices seemed to be more acceptable to her palate. Lemon chicken, curries, tart and spicy sauces to mask the bland and bitter after taste of things she used to eat with relish, appeared on the Brownstone’s menu. And when all else failed, fresh fruit smoothies laden with protein-powder made their way into her hands. Strawberry seemed to work best for her, he noted.

A week after thar third treatment, again, her tastebuds seemed to rally, and he breathed a sigh of relief. But the subsequent treatment and the one after that and the one after that, had similar effects, and each time it took longer for her to recover her sense of taste. Partially she ate because she understood the process, her body needed sustenance to repair itself, but partially, she ate because of Sherlock.

He would sit with her at times, after a particularly bad day, when her body felt like lead and her mind could concentrate on little and distract her with the hypothetical menu of the feast they would have after this was all over. Laying on the sofa, feet stretched across his lap, she would listen, eyes half closed, to the litany of wondrous dishes he would prepare for her.

“And for dessert?” he would ask of her each time the litany of menu items came to an end. And each time, Joan would answer with a soft smile upon her face, “Crème brûlée...”


	20. Secret Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shhh.... Secret bonus chapter! I can not come up with a story to fill prompt JWP#26 so here ... have some fluffy filler ....

Joan opened the door to find Marcus standing there with a file in his hand and a smile on his face. 

“My goodness,” Joan smiled back. “Our file delivered by the precinct captain himself!”

“I hadn’t seen you guys in a while so....”

“Roar! Roarrrr!” A seven foot inflatable T-Rex, it’s little arms flailing in front of it and it’s head bouncing this way and that, came running out of the library. Close on his heels ran Arthur, swinging a nerf bat at the beast and yelling, “Take that ... and that ... you ol’ dinosaur.”

Another roar and a few giggles and they disappeared down the hall.

Joan looked at Marcus apologetically and shrugged. 

From the far end of the hall they heard a thud. Sherlock or err, the T-Rex, lay flat on his back. A very concerned Arthur scrambled up to the dino’s head, “You okay, Uncle Sherlock?”

Tiny dinosaur arms grabbed at the boy and with a huge roar, Arthur and the T-Rex rolled and giggled.

Joan grinned and shook her head, “I’m hoping it’s just a phase. He even insisted on sleeping with that thing last night.”

“Sherlock or Arthur?” Marcus asked with a barely contained smile.


	21. Ranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#27: Scan the Shelves For Ten Seconds: You have 10 seconds. Look over your collection of other books, movies, TV-show compilations, etc. (Or sweep through your electronic library at top speed.) You have 10 seconds to pick one item. Now add something from that work into your offering – a setting, a plot-point, one of the characters. ("Watson, this dead man is marked with a mockingjay.")
> 
> I wish my eyes had fallen on a more erudite book but alas...

Laughter. Watson’s laughter. It drew him away from his book and towards the brownstone’s foyer. He stopped and stared. She didn’t even register his presence. Her hand was on the very firm bicep of a tall, athletically muscular man wearing a very tight black t-shirt. This man that Watson was fawning over acknowledged Sherlock’s presence with a nod. Watson was too busy sweeping her hair back and up into a pony tail to notice. 

The man introduced himself, “Hi. Ranger Manoso.” He extended a hand. “You must be Holmes.”

“Yes.” He shook the man’s hand warily. 

Joan finished putting up her hair and finally realized her partner was in the room. “Oh, there you are. This is Mr. Manoso ....”

“Call me Ranger, please.”

Joan looked up at him and smiled, “Alright.... Ranger is the head of a New Jersey security firm that was surveilling our victim. He has footage of her from the night she disappeared.”

Sherlock noted her flushed cheeks, the positioning of her body and her general demeanor in the presence of this Ranger person. All the haptic clues were there. He did not consider himself a jealous man but he and Watson were ...well, they were ... they were what they were dammit! He could feel resentful suspicion laced with snide commentary building in his chest and decided to exit before it erupted.

“Well, I see you two have this well in hand. I’ll leave you to it.” He gave them that brittle smile, the one he reserved for mass murderers and serial killers, turned and walked quickly back to his work in the other room. 

Joan excused herself and followed him. “What’s wrong?” She whispered.

“Nothing is wrong. You and ...” he waved in the direction of the library where Ranger stood. “You and that ... that pillar of manhood don’t need my input. Go, he’s waiting.” With studied indifference, Sherlock returned his book. 

“You are jealous!” She whispered, searching his face. “I didn’t think it possible.”

“I am not. I have no claim over you. You are free to do as you wish.” He kept his head bent towards his book and would not make eye contact. 

Joan leaned over and placed her head between him and the book, kissed him full on the lips and then walked away. 

Sherlock spent a good part of the next hour reliving that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ranger Mancuso from Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series  
> (Personally, I’m more TeamJoeMorelli”)


	22. An Absolutely Fabulous Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JWP#28 Take inspiration today from the following lines: "I can explain!" "Is that so? Well, you are the writer amongst us, so I look forward to your tale Watson."
> 
> Notes at the end.

Marcus brought her home. “Had to call in a few favors, but I got her released. She’s charged with breaking and entry, drunk and disorderly, and property damage, among other things.”

“Thank you, Marcus.”

The front door clicked shut. Sherlock turned to his partner. Raccoon-eyed from the remnants of black mascara, she met his gaze. He shook his head: hair frizzed, teased up high and leaning to the side, red lipstick smeared across her cheek, a pair of six inch stilettos in her hand, she wore a baby blue Chanel suit, torn, stained with ... well, he didn’t really want to know what ... and to top it all off, she reeked of gin. Cheap gin. He wrinkled his nose at her.

“I can explain.”

"Is that so?” He hid his amusement. “Well, you are the writer amongst us, so I look forward to your tale, Watson."

“Your friends came by while you were out. Patsy and Edina.”

“Oh.” He suddenly understood her condition. He corrected her, “They are not friends per se, more like artifacts of a debased and drug addled past.”

“Yeah, well, they claimed to need help, something about Mick stealing something from them ... I ... I don’t know. Next thing I know, I’m on the roof of the Chanel studios breaking in to get a suit and get disguised ....”

“Was this before or after the gin?”

“I ... I don’t remember... I had some sort of vodka drink ... and then a whiskey drink ... and then Patsy started singing .... I think Edina spilled the gin on me when we jumped into the dumpster ... it all got to be a blur... when the cops came, they ran off and ... I’m sorry Sherlock. I thought I could control them.”

“No need to apologize. I understand completely. You’ve seen the photo of me in make up and those leather pants they somehow got me to wear.”

Joan smiled at the memory.

“First thing you must learn when dealing with those women is never open the door. Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Photo: [kisses from Patsy and Edina ](https://nairobiwonders.tumblr.com/post/186596112545)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For two of the previous Watson’s Woes, Patsy and Edina (Ab Fab) have made an appearance.  
> You can read the first one here: Other Tales Of Watson’s Woes, Chapter 16 https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361593/chapters/17060884
> 
> And second one: Return of Revenge of Watson’s Woes, Chapter 12  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842244/chapters/47372101
> 
> Link to photo at end of fic


	23. Watson, the Nun, and the Vet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two prompts - one story!
> 
> JWP#29 To the Makeup Table! Focus on Holmes and/or Watson in disguise – for a case, or for any other reason.
> 
> JWP#30 The One-Legged News-Seller and Other Spear-Carriers:Have today's offering from the POV of one of the background characters in any version of Sherlock Holmes, including characters who were never named. (Note: This does not include recurring principle characters like Mycroft or Hopkins.)

“Yup, I seen the girl.” His hand crooked with arthritis took the photo from the detective and studied it. “I remembered the girl from a few years back. She was with a fella who uh... asked me about something.” The old man hesitated and squirmed a little as if to get up from his spot on the pavement.

Marcus tried to reassure him. “It’s alright. We don’t really care why you know them. We just need to find them. They’ve been missing for over 24 hours. They maybe in trouble.”

“Well, I said I saw her. Didn’t see him.” He handed back the photo and wiped his hand across his old army jacket. “Nice guy though. Got me off the street just before that blizzard we had a few years back. That was a big one ...”

Marcus tried to steer him back to the present. “Can you tell me when and where you saw her?”

“Yesterday. They came into my alley, all of a sudden like. I was crouched by my dumpster having a ... having my breakfast. Don’t think they saw me. People tend to not see us ...”

“Wait up a second. You said ‘they’? Who was Joan with?” Marcus crouched down to the old vet’s level.

“Yeah, it was definitely your girl there and she was with a nun.”

“A nun?” 

“Yup. Taller woman, like five eleven. Glasses, a cross, and the thing they wear, you know, on their head. Sensible looking if you know what I mean.”

“Did you hear anything? Did they say anything?”

“The nun said something like, don’t worry, just introduce me and go ... had a kinda deep voice for a woman. And your girl there, asked her to be careful, she seemed worried ... it was all real strange. Even stranger was the kiss. I didn’t think nuns did things like that. Back in my day ...”

Marcus stopped him. “Wait. Wait just a minute. Joan and this nun kissed?”

“Man did they ever! It wasn’t no peck on the cheek either. This was full on the mouth frenchie from what I saw. They said something I couldn’t quite hear and they sorta took a breath and walked out of the alley. Walked up that way.” He pointed with a crooked finger towards the cathedral.

Marcus looked down, trying to make sense of what the old guy said. He looked up quickly, “Did this nun have an accent by any chance? A British accent?”

The old man thought for a moment, “You know, I think she did.”

The detective shook his head, what were Holmes and Watson up to? Trying to picture Holmes dressed like a nun was a stretch but then Holmes had done stranger things. The kiss. He would have to tease them about that when he found them. He shook the old man’s hand and stood. “Thank you for your time sir.”

“Welcome. Hope you find her.” He waited until the cops had walked a few steps away before retrieving the flask from his jacket and taking a swig.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [WHOUFFLE WEEK 2020. Day Four: Coat, outerwear / Food](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715613) by [memelovescaps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memelovescaps/pseuds/memelovescaps)




End file.
